


last ditches

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Admiration, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Diplomacy, Dooku Is Not a Sith Lord, F/M, Marriage of Political Convenience, Padmé Amidala Joins The Separatists, Political Alliances, Politics, implied arranged marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-08-08 12:59:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16429847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: Politics, she’d come to realize, was death.





	last ditches

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wrennette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrennette/gifts).



Padmé glanced at the growing shape of Coruscant’s skyline as her shuttle flew in, distaste curling the corner of her mouth into a grimace she knew was unpleasant, would be seen as offensive to whomever was unlucky enough to be part of the greeting party on the landing platform. Serenno had a reputation amongst the loyalists in the capital. As did Naboo, though Naboo’s had always stung the worst. As the leader of both, she would be a uniquely unhappy sight to anyone here who valued the Republic’s laws and order.

It was only as a favor to an old friend that she was willing to come at all. Foolish, perhaps, and many of her advisers warned her away from it. War was brewing. It licked and bubbled at that dividing line between the Republic and the loose confederacy that was taking shape in the parts of the galaxy the Core no longer cared about—and never had.

Last ditch efforts. Padmé was so familiar with them. And she was sick of it, of all of it. As much as she would have liked to mend every wound that rent the planets on one side of this conflict from the other, there was no place in her heart for such sentimentality.

The Republic would bend to the Confederacy’s demands or it would find the cost of not ceding to them the greatest burden it would ever bear. At this point, Padmé cared little one way or the other, though she would mourn the lost lives when the time came.

Politics, she’d come to realize, was death.

“Do you remember when we first came here, Sabé?” she asked, still peering out the viewport, her hand splayed over the cool transparisteel. These landings always seemed to take so long. Impatience itched at the back of her neck, prickled over her skin and settled just underneath, enough to bring her mood down further. There was little point in being here, but she wanted to see this one thing done. Prove to herself once and for all that her choice had been the right one.

 _Do as you must_ , her husband had told her. _If anyone can convince them, it’s you_. His touch, when they’d parted—him on his way to give another speech to another group of intellectually thirsty university students, her to, well, here—had been gentle, soft, the kiss he’d pressed to her temple delicate and unassuming. He hadn’t so much as mussed a single curl of her hair in the process, refraining out of respect though he loved to run his fingers through it. _Be safe_.

“Yes, milady,” she replied, leaning forward in her own seat to better look out the viewport, too. Her eyes shone like chips of black ice and sparkled in the light of Coruscant’s endless, noisy skyscrapers. That was a new development. She hadn’t always been so cold. Padmé hated what the galaxy had done to both of them, but she couldn’t imagine the alternative. Who could be happy with the state of the galaxy? “Hopefully this trip is a more fruitful one.”

“Do you really believe that?”

A sharp, wry smile cut across Sabé’s mouth and left no trace behind beyond the blood red of her lips. “Not in the slightest. We’ll be lucky if it’s merely a wasted journey.” Her hand fell to the blaster strapped to her thigh, a constant companion in the years since the occupation of Naboo. In truth, Padmé almost reached for her own. As much as she hated it, the weapon always made her feel a little safer. How she despised it, knowing it would let down every one of her loved ones. They’d taught her to be better than her fears. And here, she hid behind them.

There was no reason to fear; she wanted desperately to believe that.

She could not. Would that she could again.

A pleasant chime followed by the voice of the pilot indicated that arrival time was immanent. They could depart at will. The nearly relaxed feeling dissolved immediately, replaced in her and her entourage with wariness, preparedness. Coruscant would do them no favors and may well have wanted them dead. It was on each and every one of them to remain alert. Padmé hated this, too, but she knew better than to pretend they had no reason to worry.

She descended the ramp first, though she could feel Sabé’s urge to protest in the back of her mind. It was a common refrain, well-worn from their years spent together. And though Padmé appreciated her concern, she could not concern herself with it. She went nowhere intending to allow others to suffer for her actions, even innocuous ones such as this. Especially innocuous ones such as this.

There was a retinue waiting for them, garbed in the splendor of many Republic senators. Old friends in the lead. Not just Mon, but Bail Organa, too. Her chest ached to see them both here, barely protected on the platform, as exposed as Padmé herself, perhaps more so since Padmé’s guards outnumbered theirs.

A smile bloomed across Mon’s face, though she hesitated to take a step until Padmé took one first. “It is so good to see you, Countess,” she said, and Padmé believed her. And though Bail remained as stately as ever, he, too, did not appear unmoved by her presence. He said, low, warm, “Breha sends her best wishes; we’ve both missed you deeply.”

It did not shame Padmé to feel the heat of tears come to her eyes. Though they did not collect and fall, it felt good and right to be moved. Perhaps this was how they would win, close friends coming together across divides. Even if she were struck down now, she thought it might be worth it just for having tried. Padmé may not have believed in the Republic, but she believed in them, in their goodness.

They would try.

“As have I,” she replied, embracing them both while their guards stiffened, worried perhaps that one or the other would pull a vibroblade. It should have been a ridiculous notion.

In these times, sadly, it was not.

“Come,” Mon said, cheerful, hopeful, “let us talk in more comfortable environs.” She included every last one of the people Padmé brought with her in her words. That was why she was so well loved by so many. “Perhaps some good may yet come of this divide.”

Though Padmé dared to hope as well, she could not quite bring herself to believe it. From the sadness that lingered in Mon’s gaze, a perfect, melancholy counterpoint to that joy and cheer at seeing Padmé, it did not seem that she believed it either.

They would talk. Little, if anything, would be done.

It had to be enough that she tried.

*

Serenno would never be her true home—her heart would always belong to Naboo—but as she returned, heard the sound of familiar accents and uncomplicated welcomes from the crew in the spaceport as her own ship brought her in, she could not help but be happy, more relaxed as she took in the regal, beautiful sights. This was a skyline she could cherish, filled with people who cared about true democracy and freedom. Padmé would never again fully trust the political leaders she worked with and against, a part of her could not fully believe that all in the Confederacy were what they claimed, but she could not deny that they were working toward a better future than the senators in the Republic. She could be proud to say she stood with them.

And though she’d never imagined a match such as the one Count Dooku had brought to her several years ago, archaic though it had been, she could not deny that she felt she had done more good as the Countess of the House of Dooku than she’d ever managed to accomplish as Queen of Naboo, as Naboo’s senator after.

“Take us home,” she said to the driver, a young woman who stared at Padmé with awe in her eyes, a reverently hungry glint in her eye. She was so like others who lived and worked and fought for the Confederacy and so different from the disdainful citizens of the Republic who knew their leaders did nothing for them, would not do anything unless they were forced to.

The ride was quick, easy, quiet and peaceful. And when she stepped through the door it took hardly any time at all for her husband to approach. With cordial good manners, he smiled at her, searched her face for signs of confirmation of what he already knew to be true. In many ways, he was no longer the Jedi he had once been, but in this, he still showed his true colors: he did not force an answer before she was willing to give it. Instead, he took her gloved hand in his, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“How was the speech?” she asked, looping her arm through his. She could grow to love him, she thought, because she already respected him so much. Naboo was secure because of his—their—efforts. And so many other systems as well. “I assume it went well.”

It could never be said that Count Dooku wasn’t an excellent orator.

“Very, my dear,” he replied, his voice a low, pleasant rumble. Yes, there was much to admire in the count and her admiration only grew by the day. “The young see what their elders do not.” After a pause, he added, “Though I believe you may know more about that today than I do.”

A sad smile twitched and died. “Mon and Bail intend to do what they can.”

“Nothing will be accomplished.”

Padmé sighed. She leaned into his touch when he reached up to push her hair behind her ears. It was more of a comfort than she wanted it to be, that small gesture. “I know. I’m afraid there will be no help within the Senate.”

He patted her hand and drew her toward the dining hall. “We knew this eventuality was likely. And now we can prepare. It will be difficult, but I believe we can win this fight. For your people and for every system the Republic has forgotten.”

It would have been naïve to admit to the truth that lived inside of her, not to mention pointless: she did not want to fight. But it was entirely possible that he knew already if the sympathetic gaze he gave her was any indication. They’d often spoken late into the night about it; he would have preferred a bloodless victory as well.

That did not seem likely at this point.

Again, Padmé would have to mourn the loss of lives for a cause of another’s making. She wasn’t sure she was ready.

“It is a business best left to the light of day, I think,” he said, not unkindly. “A good meal and a night’s rest will do us both some good. We can discuss it further in the morning.”

For a moment, she could not imagine a life without him by her side.

In a dark time, that was a comfort to her.


End file.
